


Tea with Treacle and the Tarts

by Freebirdflying



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Christmas, Exhibitionism, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, It's For a Case, John just wants to touch, M/M, Ogling, Sherlock's arse, Tights, Ugly Christmas Apparel Challenge, Undercover, manspreading, tacky outfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebirdflying/pseuds/Freebirdflying
Summary: John Watson was very good at keeping his attraction to his brilliant flatmate hidden, right up until the day that Sherlock went undercover wearingthat.





	Tea with Treacle and the Tarts

John was _extremely_ thankful that his role in this particular undercover operation was to stay out of the way and be inconspicuous until Sherlock’s ploy got out of hand (and it _would_ , John was sure). He’d seen enough of the costume just from a glance in the bag before they left Baker Street to be quite thrilled to play the sidekick on this one. 

Their “client” in this case was Mrs Hudson; another low life scamming the elderly in the name of a Christmas charity had popped up. _She’d_ been savvy enough to see through the deception, but one of the ladies in her book club had been taken in, and several others had been contacted but hadn’t yet sent any money. Sherlock had promised to look into it after her indignant rant meant she burned the biscuits he’d been looking forward to. As badly as John wanted this scammer caught and punished--those who took advantage of the elderly deserved a special place in hell--he’d have been tempted to just let him go if _he’d_ had to wear...whatever that sparkly monstrosity in the bag was.

After an afternoon of Mrs Hudson taking them around to talk to all of her acquaintances who’d been approached by the scammer, John had decided it would be a very long time before a biscuit sounded appetizing again. All the ladies had insisted on serving tea along with “biscuits for the boys” as if Sherlock and John were enterprising twelve-year-olds. In every case, John had eaten the two on his plate and then ended up sneaking one of Sherlock’s as well since the detective only nibbled on one and he didn’t want the grandmotherly ladies to take offence. 

“John! I’ll need you to research Ulrey Tyre Shop in Eastbourne.” Sherlock bounced up the stairs ahead of John, whose gait could more correctly be labelled trudging. “If I’m right, the scammer is laundering the money through the shop.” 

John only grunted and burped up the ghost of cinnamon sprinkles. 

By the time he made it to the sitting room, Sherlock was tapping away furiously on his laptop. John automatically headed toward the kettle to start tea before remembering that he was sloshing already and changing course to flop into his chair. He’d barely settled in before Sherlock was dumping the laptop (of course he’d been using John’s) on his lap. 

“Research, John. I need to go out again.” 

“Out again? Do you need…”

“No, stay here. I’m not going to confront the scammer tonight; I just need some items for tomorrow.” 

John nodded to an empty room as Sherlock darted back down the stairs. He typed the name of the shop into a Google search before he could forget it and didn’t bother to waste any mental energy wondering what Sherlock had planned for tomorrow. 

*****

And here they were, tomorrow, in the cramped employees-only hallway of a dinner-theatre that boasted “Teatime with Treacle and the Tarts” every Tuesday and Friday afternoon through New Years. The event had already started, so no one was backstage to question why John was keeping watch outside the door to make sure the scammer didn’t leave while Sherlock was in the bathroom changing into the clothes in the bag he’d come home with the night before. 

The crowd he had glimpsed as they snuck in seemed to be mostly older ladies; he could see that Mrs Hudson’s book club would fit in just fine. 

“Here. I put it all in a Marks & Spencer bag so that you wouldn’t look odd carrying it.” Sherlock shoved the bag that had held his costume and now held his suit and Belstaff into John’s hands. 

John rolled his eyes and closed his hand around the handle before it could fall to the ground. 

As soon as his eyes came out of the roll, they widened of their own accord. 

“She... _jesus._ ” After seeing a glimpse of silver and pale blue and glitter and spandex in the bag, John had been expecting some sort of snowflake-themed court jester, ready to perform slapstick comedy and cheesy holiday songs. Not _this._

“Problem, John?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him before turning to scan the scene through the door that had been left propped open a few inches. 

John swallowed and tried to get his face back in order. 

“Uh, sure you got the right size? Bit, um, tight.” 

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder. “Of course. The costume fits exactly as designed.” 

“Not quite..um..family friendly.” John coughed. “Might scandalize the elderly out there.” 

The pale blue tights were just that...tight. They perfectly showed every muscle of Sherlock’s long legs. The v-neck shimmery silver top was of flowy fabric but still somehow tight across the chest, and so sheer that John was pretty sure Sherlock’s nipples would show clearly if he got the slightest bit cold. A belt of blue and silver cord emphasized his slim waist, and below the belt, the shirt was just long enough to cover his arse and...ahem. John stopped thinking completely for a couple of seconds. Well, long enough if Sherlock stayed quite still and didn’t bend _at all_. The overall effect was rather over-the-top and definitely not in good taste, but apparently Sherlock could make even this ridiculous outfit look good.

Sherlock turned to face John.

“John, scandalizing the elderly is the _point_ of this little show. Remember, this is an event _Mrs Hudson_ _and Mrs Turner_ have already attended _twice_ this year.” 

John kept his eyes steadily trained on Sherlock’s left ear to avoid accidentally finding out if he’d dressed the left or right, and... _Christ, I wasn’t going to think about that_. _FOCUS, case._

“What do you mean?” It was probably obvious, but John hadn’t quite recovered his full mental faculties just yet. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at the door. John glanced through just in time to see a young man dressed in a purple-and-silver version of the same outfit delivering a tray of mini cheesecakes to the nearest table. As he set it down, he deliberately knocked a spare serviette from the table. It fluttered to the ground a couple of feet away. 

“May I bring more punch for you, ladies? Oh, dear, I’ve dropped your...” He slowly bent to retrieve it, giving a nice long view of a well-muscled backside as the diaphanous tunic rode up. The ladies tittered and he gave a cheeky grin as he placed it back on the table and proceeded to take a count of additional punch glasses needed. 

“Making sure he gets a good tip.” Sherlock smirked. 

John rolled his eyes and huffed. Well. He’d wondered why Mrs Hudson and her friends had been so keen on what sounded like an overly-sweet bit of fluff. Treacle and the _Tarts_ , indeed. He’d certainly grown much more suspicious about what all the grandmotherly women he came across were _really_ thinking since he’d met his surprising landlady. 

_I’ll bet Sherlock could really rack up the tips if HE tried that move. His arse would put that cheeky little bastard’s to shame. It’s so round...I...WHAT AM I THINKING? STOP IT NOW! Case, case, case, case! Scammer! Elderly ladies! The kidneys in the fridge!_

“Stay here, but be ready when I give the signal.” Sherlock, thankfully, didn’t comment on John’s slight blush and slipped out into the room. He took up a water pitcher and made his way through the crowd, stopping to fill glasses whenever he was close enough to overhear a bit of the conversation of the other colourfully-spandexed servers. 

John watched attentively. He wasn’t sure what “the signal” was supposed to be, but it was usually when someone either attempted to strangle Sherlock or ran. He found himself watching Sherlock’s legs as he moved around the room. The muscles in his thighs moved fluidly under the smooth fabric. _I wonder if those tights are silky or scratchy...I’d like to run my hand just there to find out...WATSON! Pull it together! He will KNOW if you keep ogling him._

Despite all of his protests of “not gay,” John had known for many years that he _could_ be attracted to both women and men, but since he was fine with women he’d never chosen to act on any attraction he felt to a man. He supposed it was a bit of self-preservation after witnessing the screaming matches between his father and sister when he was a teenager; women were just _easier_. Until Sherlock. 

Sherlock had made that comment about being married to his work, though, and hadn’t dated anyone since John had known him. John didn’t see the point in changing the habits of a lifetime if Sherlock wasn’t interested. He tried his best to hide his attraction; how awkward would it be for Sherlock to realize that his flatmate was lusting after him? But, oh, days like this made it hard. He couldn’t help but daydream sometimes about what it would be like if his brilliant best friend was also his lover.

John tried to notice the other Tarts; maybe he’d catch something incriminating. There were several circulating, all wearing some obscenely tight variation of the outfit Sherlock had on. Fortunately, the colours varied, so it was easy to follow the movements of a particular Tart. Red-and-gold was flexing his biceps as he carried trays of canapes; Green-and-white’s top was moulded to his six-pack as he seated latecomers; Black-and-silver was chatting flirtatiously with a table who appeared to already be on their second helping of the punch. None could distract him for long, though; Sherlock moved gracefully even when winding through the crowded room and John found himself following him with his eyes again. For the case, of course. He was waiting for the signal; he’d have to be looking at Sherlock to see it, right? 

Sherlock moved closer and stopped at a table only about ten feet from where John was peeking through the door. His back was to John and, instead of walking around to reach over the diner’s shoulders to refill their water glasses, he stayed where he was and reached. John couldn’t keep his eyes from following the hem of the tunic as Sherlock bent slightly as he stretched. Up...up...and oh, god. The delicious curves where arse cheeks met thighs came into view. John’s hands clenched by his sides with the desire to _squeeze_ , right there. John clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from letting out a little moan of frustration. _My hands would just fit there, pulling him closer as I kiss across that bit of collarbone right…_

... _there_. _Oh, fuck._ While John considered the best technique for grabbing his arse, Sherlock had finished at the table and was now two feet away. The v-neck top and Sherlock’s relative height mean the collarbone in questions was now directly in his face. Sherlock pretended to be checking the thermostat next to the door. 

_Oh fuck oh fuck don’t look him in the eye don’t blush stop staring at his chest oh god looking down isn’t better ears ears yes look at his ear. He has nice ears. FUCK._

Sherlock gave John a lingering glance but didn’t comment. 

“The scammer is the one with the purple top and green tights.” Sherlock murmured. “I’ll try to steer him this way, so be ready.” 

John nodded. Tackle the tart, right. _Get your mind back on the case!_

As Sherlock made his way back around to where the scammer was supplying a table with more tea, several of the Tarts hopped up onto the low stage at the end of the room and began serenading the diners with lively Christmas carols. John was only half listening as he followed Sherlock with his eyes as he circled his prey. 

“...Ho ho, the mistletoe, well hung as you can see…” 

Sherlock was about ten feet away and hadn’t yet attracted the attention of the scammer, who was humming along as he carried a couple of empty plates to the window by the kitchen door. 

“...Have a very naughty Christmas, and in case you didn’t see…” 

There was a titter from the audience. John glanced at the stage. The Tarts were flexing their biceps, which in turn pulled their tunics up to show rather impressive bulges in their tights. John suspected some of them had done some padding. 

Back to the suspect. Sherlock had held back, not wanting to accost him while he was so close to the kitchen door. If he bolted, better that he make for the backstage door where John was waiting. 

“...very naughty Christmas, and when you have enough eggnog…” 

John glanced back at the stage. _I don’t think those are the right lyrics._

Oh, fuck. The suspect was running. Why couldn’t Sherlock tell him there was something wrong with the thermostat and have him come take a look, so they could take him quietly? Oh, no, he had to accuse him right out in the middle of the room. 

John set his feet and braced himself to catch him when he came through the door, but the scammer veered at the last moment and made for the stage. _What’s this idiot doing?_

John startled the nearest table by bursting out of the door in pursuit as Sherlock sprinted up the middle aisle. They tackled the fleeing suspect easily as he tried to plough through a tangle of confused Tarts. The music cut off with a screech as John hauled him to his feet. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, “ Sherlock addressed the astonished crowd, “this Tart has been quite naughty this Christmas. If you have donated to the Bears for St. Bart’s Children’s fund, it is a scam, and you should contact New Scotland Yard to file a complaint.” And with that, he turned with a flourish that lacked some of its usual flair without the Belstaff and grabbed the scammer’s other arm to help John drag the squirming and protesting man off stage. 

John overheard a lady at the nearest table as they went through the door. “Margie, you should have waited on _that_ one to come by before dropping that fork.” 

Ah. In the tackling, Sherlock’s shirt had been rucked up, leave his arse on full display as he exited. Unfortunately, John got only a glimpse before it was back to business handing the suspect off to the officers Lestrade had sent over. 

***** 

To John’s surprise, Sherlock didn’t bother to change back into his suit before they left to find a cab. He did take his Belstaff, leaving John carrying the bag with his suit, although it looked a bit odd with the blue tights. 

“Sure you won’t be too cold on the way home in that getup?” 

“They _do_ have heat in cabs, John,” Sherlock responded with his usual air of disdain. “So it would be quite a waste of my time unless you had another destination besides Baker Street in mind.” 

“No..no. Just home, I suppose.” John shrugged and followed. 

In the cab, Sherlock sprawled on his seat, the unbuttoned Belstaff falling open as he stared out of the window. 

_Does he always sit like that, and I don’t notice because he’s wearing trousers? Surely not...but…_ John sat rather primly and kept his eyes forward. _But…_ Quick glance. Sherlock was still looking out of the window, probably cataloguing the case in his mind palace. John looked down while scratching his ear as an excuse to move his head. 

_So, to the left, then. Does he not realize how those tights show off his cock? Christ, Watson, don’t start calling it a cock; stick with the medical view or you’re just going to drive yourself crazy. Penis. His penis that I should not be looking at, or wanting to touch. Nope, don’t even think it. Is he really so deep into his Mind Palace that he doesn’t feel the draft on his balls? He seems to be just a bit longer than average; it would make sense; he’s a tall man. You would think he’d be shrinking in the cold, but...is it a bit larger than it was? Surely not, just my mind playing tricks. But still...is he?_

Sherlock coughed. John glanced up and met his eye. 

_Fuck_. How do you explain why you were caught staring at your best friend’s crotch? 

“We’ve arrived, John.” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but didn’t mention the staring. Well, at least he wasn’t insisting on making a scene right here in the cab. 

“Ah, um, yes.” John scrambled to pull out his wallet and pay the cabbie while Sherlock unlocked the door. By the time he’d finished and reached the door, Sherlock was already upstairs. 

John paused in the doorway. _I could go for a walk in the park; maybe he’d be engrossed in an experiment by the time I got back. Or to the pub; I really could use a drink right now. Or several._

He almost turned and dashed; surely Sherlock would want some space from the person who had just been ogling him? 

“...John?” Sherlock called down from the sitting room. “Mrs Hudson won’t be happy if you let all the cold air in.” 

John sighed. _Don’t be a coward. If he’s upset, surely he’ll understand that it was just medical curiosity. Just data gathering, scientific, definitely not because I want to lick...AUUGH. STOP._

Before he had any more time to make it any worse in his head, John plodded up the stairs. 

“Sherlock, I…” John pulled the door shut behind him and turned to address Sherlock and froze. Sherlock was bent over the arm of his chair, arse pointed right at John. That beautiful arse, covered only in a thin, stretchy blue layer of fabric. And then he _wiggled_ it. John let out a whimper before he could catch himself. 

“Aha!” Sherlock popped up, holding the remote control. 

_I know I left that remote on the desk when we went out. No, not what’s important right now! Oh god, did he hear that?_

Sherlock whirled to face John, staring intently into his face. 

_Oh god, oh god, he heard it, he knows, he’s going to tell me off for being stupidly sentimental, it’s all transport, I’m an idiot…_

“John.” Sherlock tossed the remote back onto the chair and stalked across the room straight for him. John dropped his gaze from the intense eye contact. Looking down did not help.

_Fuck. He’s...he’s DEFINITELY harder than he was in the cab. Wait, is he aroused by this? What…?_

“John.” Sherlock stopped just at the edge of John’s personal space. 

John looked up into his eyes again. The look Sherlock was giving him was...heated. Sherlock took another step forward and John stepped back until his back hit the door. Sherlock placed his hands on either side of John’s head and leaned in, leaving barely an inch between them. 

“John.” _Oh god oh god oh god._ “Are you attracted to me?” 

John took a deep breath. “Yes?" _Oh, god, please, is this...? But what if..._ He panicked a bit. "You are an attractive man. But I know I crossed the line today; I shouldn’t have looked at you that way. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want that type of thing, and that’s fine; I won’t bother you with it. It was just those tights today, but I know that’s no excuse; I can control myself better. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry for invading your privacy by…” John rambled until he ran out of breath. 

“John.” Sherlock somehow moved even closer, as close as he could be without actually touching. “What if I _am_ interested in ‘that type of thing’, as you so poetically phrased it?” 

John was too shocked to complain about Sherlock being sarcastic at a time like this. 

“You...you…” 

“Yes, me. I could have solved this case without the undercover work. I chose to wear this costume because I wanted proof of what I had suspected.” 

John just looked at him. 

“You’re attracted to me. And I am attracted to you.” 

“You...you are?” 

“As I just stated, yes. I find you attractive, John.” 

“I thought you…” 

“No, I am _not_ asexual. I just have control over my own transport, and most people are too boring to be worth taking the time to seduce. But _you…_ ” 

“I’m not too boring for you?” John had recovered from his shock enough to quirk his mouth into a half smile. 

“Never, John. And while you always insist you aren’t gay, I can give you seven signs I’ve seen that you can be attracted to men in general, and me in specific. First, I…” 

John raised a hand and rested two fingers on Sherlock’s lips. 

“Yeah. I know I’m bisexual; I’ve just never acted on it.” 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow; he had assumed John was not aware of his own tells and would take some convincing. 

John took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. 

“So. We’re attracted to each other, and _you_ are wearing absolutely obscene tights. What do you want to do about it?” 

Sherlock kissed the two fingers still on his lips. John grinned. 

“Yeah? Well, c’mere then.” John moved his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him in. There was a delicious moment of noses rubbing and breath mingling before Sherlock’s mouth found his. The first touch was a bit tentative, but they quickly found their rhythm. When their tongues finally touched, Sherlock let out a moan and melted against John. 

_Fuck, yes._ John kissed him harder and slowly let his hands, which had come up to rest against Sherlock’s shoulder blades, drift down his back. He had to stretch juuust a bit to reach without breaking the kiss, but...there. He had been right; the curve of those cheeks fit just _perfectly_ in his hands. He squeezed, and Sherlock let out a muffled squeak. 

John kissed up the curve of his jaw until he could whisper in his ear. “Come on, love, let’s get you out of this ridiculous outfit.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was just meant to be a drabble for the Ugly Christmas Apparel Challenge, but, apparently, I am incapable of drabbles because somehow it took me nearly 4000 words. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this bit of silliness, and that your Christmas is just as fun as Sherlock and John's is likely to be after the events of this fic. 
> 
> Not beta'd; if you see any mistakes feel free to point them out. No matter how carefully I proofread; there's always something!


End file.
